Reflections of a Trapped Soul
by PhantomKat
Summary: [Psycho] Basically what the title says.  Oneshot of Norman Bates' inner thoughts.  R&R!


Hi there! Thanks for being good enough to read this! This is my first Psycho fan fic and sort of like a character study. I hope you like it! Disclaimer: I own nothing. It's very depressing.

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Sleep was the one time he was at peace. No worries, no nagging mother, just him and his private thoughts nestled in his own little world. Norman curled up beneath his quilt and clutched his battered old stuffed rabbit toy tighter to his chest. With his body in this position, he looked more like a six-year-old boy than a twenty six year old man. That was what Mother would say if she saw him. It was what she always said: "Why can't you grow up and be a man?" Therein laid the problem. He was not sure he knew how to be a man. He was in no way effeminate, but he just did not have a father to teach him and coax him out of his boyish ways.

Ever since his father perished in the waters of the Pacific Ocean, it had been just Norman and Mother living together in the old Victorian house. At least, it was like that up until Mother's "friend" came along. Norman felt deprived and alone without his mother, so, taking matters into his own hands, he removed the "friend" and Mother's feelings for him. Mother had been furious with him; furthermore, she did not speak to him for weeks. She stayed in the fruit cellar, not wishing to know of his existence. That was one of Norman's low points. He implored her, did everything for her, until she came out of the cellar with no recollection of the man.

He had no idea what she saw in him. Why had she needed him when Norman was there? There he came, throwing his money around, building the motel, and taking his mother away from him. That man could do anything he wanted, including sending Norman "somewhere" as he had oh so delicately called it. He thought Norman to be dangerous, clinging, and abnormal, just like the boys at school had thought. They thought him to be strange and delighted in teasing him. But what did they know? They called him "mama's boy". So what if he was? They did not know him. They had no reason to judge or send him away to "someplace".

Oh, God, how he hated that place. He hated all the screams, the crying, the stares, all the arms reaching out for you. He had called Norman "disturbed". Disturbed. How would he know? He would not know what 'disturbed' really was unless he sat huddled in terror in a corner surrounded by stark white walls as Norman had for so many nights. Finally, the doctor released him when he only found a scared young man instead of a deranged lunatic.

Even so, when he returned home, he was changed. His mood swings became more frequent. Sometimes he seemed normal, yet, most of the time; he was more withdrawn and submissive with a strong hatred for the interloper festering inside him. That was when he began his hobby; although, he wished he could stuff that man instead of the birds.

That was all over now; Norman had seen to that.

Norman rolled over and smiled in his light slumber. As there were no customers, he had gone to bed earlier than usual. Mother would make him get up soon, even though it was night. She seemed to know what he was thinking all the time. He should cherish his thoughts while he could.

The rain that had once been peaceful and soothing now hammered on his window, breaking his thoughts, mocking him. Norman propped himself up on hi elbow and blinked sleepily. Through the rain, he saw the neon motel sign shining brightly in the dark. The red glow made it look supernatural, almost demonic. He had no idea why he still lit the sign. Practically no one came this way because of the highway. Jus habit, he supposed. By now, he was mostly awake; moreover, there was no reason to go back to sleep. Mother usually had something for him to do, even if there were no guests at the motel. He hoped none of the chores involved going into town. Now, instead of being called "mama's boy", he retained the title of hermit. This he did not mind too much, yet whenever he went into town, he attracted a large number of stares that reminded him of his days in "someplace".

He rolled out of bed and ran his fingers though his rumpled hair as he looked down at himself. He did not remember falling asleep in his clothes, but sometimes there were many things he did not remember. Sticking his hands in his trouser pockets, Norman walked into Mother's room to see about his duties. Sure enough, she was awake and calmly pacing the floor with her hands clasped in front of her. When he entered, she wasted no time reprimanding him and sending him off to do needless chores around the property.

"And tuck in your shirt!" she chided him shrilly as he left. He descended the stairs silently, leaving Mother in her bedroom and tucking his shirt into his pants as he went. Entering the kitchen, he went to the refrigerator with the intention of making something to eat after finding he was hungry. He hoped to go out to his workroom after his chores to work on his latest project, a swan. There needed to be something of beauty in the dark motel parlour. He had barely begun pulling ingredients out when he heard someone leaning on a car horn. Forgetting his sandwich, he threw on his jacket and grabbed an umbrella from the hall. Once outside, he raced down the stairs, taking care not to trip and not bothering to open the umbrella.

Hardly anyone ever came by here anymore. This late-night visitor would be nothing less than interesting.


End file.
